


Orange You Glad

by cinnabelly



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, all it is, blame brianna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:12:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnabelly/pseuds/cinnabelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let me guess?” Louis starts, unable to bite his tongue. “It’ll be in exchange for some uppity talk about the devastation of orange crops, am I right?” Louis really wishes he could kick himself in the balls, but curly takes it in stride. <br/>“Noooo,” he says slowly, and then he fucking grins for reasons beyond Louis, and he has fucking dimples Louis should just give up and walk himself off the nearest cliff. “That wasn’t my orange-inal intention.” <br/>Did he just. No. <br/>Louis blinks. “Did you just make a pun?” <br/>Pink lips laughs, said lips tugging upward into just about the cutest monstrosity of a laugh Louis has ever heard. Disgusting. “‘M Harry.” <br/>Louis raises an eyebrow, masking the way his fingertips tingle as they brush Harry’s hand, retrieving the styrofoam cups. “I’m late.” <br/>or the one where oranges are going “extinct”, Louis has an 8 am class, and does the orange activist with the curls know that the small angry coffee drinker is in love with him? ft. many puns, almost food wars and Liam the know-it-all who knows nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orange You Glad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alyssa and brianna the bastards](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=alyssa+and+brianna+the+bastards).



> So basically this happened after I was challenged to turn ANYTHING into an au. Listening in on a freshman class and overhearing a girl mention the extinction of oranges was not what I had in mind, but Harry Styles would approve I like to believe. This is for my great groupchat who can't ever keep a name. Brianna and Alyssa, y'all inspired me. I very much apologize for the inevitable mistakes in this short, pining mess. I'll whip up something even better and longer to make up for it.   
> come say hi/criticize my judgement on tumblr @louserz

Go to to uni, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Louis doesn’t know what is more outrageous; the fact that he agreed, or that he was swindled into an eight am lecture because Zayn couldn’t bear the idea of sitting through one alone. Liam had even transferred, and he’s a psychology major, so why the fuck did he even need to take Music and Technology?  
But Psych types were slightly off their rocker, or so Louis had heard, and Liam certainly fit that bill. Zayn himself was taking the course for some twisted idea of fun, as he was focusing on Art. Louis actually had a legitimate reason, as he wasn’t going to climb London’s radio broadcasting social ladder with only two measly years of uni under his belt. He was merely a fresh-faced twenty-two year old with barely ten pence to his name. Alright, slight exaggeration, but still.   
Liam had text him something completely unintelligible, filled with so many abbreviations and typos Louis felt the bags under his eyes grow heavier. Christ. Honestly, if it weren’t for the crisp Autumn breeze, he’d be even more dead on his feet. Luckily, Zayn took pity on him in the group chat, and translated it to English.   
Get us some coffee when you pass Aroma.   
Figures Louis would be the only one with a studio flat near the only acceptable (at least to Liam) coffee shop around. Stupid Liam, stupid Zayn, stupid eight am lectures, and stupid sun that is far too cheery for Louis’ taste. It should be raining. Oh man. Louis would make quite a show then, trudging into class all waterlogged, like a drowned animal. A very cute drowned animal, mind you, but the point would still come across fairly pleasantly.   
Louis is still musing bitterly in his own head when he reaches Aroma, an admittedly cute building tucked not far at all off campus. He crosses the street as quickly as he can without running, because he’s got dignity, and before he can make a move for the door there’s a voice in his ear and a flyer being pushed to his chest.   
“Save the Oranges!” the kid-man, boy, alien-is yelling at him, or maybe not yelling but talking louder than Louis’ early morning ears appreciate. He’s already in a pissy mood, so he blames the way he crumples up the page and throws it at the boy’s feet on his grumbling stomach and heavy limbs.   
“Save my fucking eardrums, pal,” Louis shoots back, and too late he realizes that fuck this guy is actually really hot, and maybe it’s a bit superficial that only now Louis feels bad for being a twat. Oh well. Louis has never claimed to have great morals.   
The boy doesn’t say anything, just folds down on awkwardly long legs and picks up the purple flyer, spreading it out and pulling apart the crinkles. “Can I ask you a question?” is not what Louis expects to hear come with a gravely voice, yanking his eyes up from where he was staring at the boy’s highlighter yellow nike shoes.   
“What?” Eloquent. Smooth. The Tommo Talk.   
The boy mistakes his sudden surprise as a response, tone barely a slow drawl that makes Louis’ toes curl in his fuzzy socks. He’d stuck his feet in some boots as well, obviously. He isn’t a barbarian.   
“What was it about my approach that caused you to act aggressively? What can I do to receive a more positive reaction next time?”   
He sounded a bit like Liam, which had Louis wonder if maybe he was in Psych too. Which would mean Mr. Twinkle-Toes went to his school. Probably. Most definitely. First year?   
“For one,” Louis began, shifting his backpack between his shoulder blades, hopping from one foot to another to keep the chill at bay. “It’s arse-o’clock in the morning and you’re yelling in my ear. Secondly, what the bloody hell does ‘Save the Oranges’ even mean, and why is this more important than a morning dose of caffeine.”   
Maybe Louis had donned his radio personale tone of voice as he spoke, but he’d been told his tone was fairly pleasant, and maybe he wanted to impress this boy after being a grouch. Maybe. Possibly. Definitely.   
The boy nodded his head, seeming to seriously weigh Louis’ criticism in his mind with careful consideration, when Louis’ phone was buzzing again. Shit. It was five till, and he’d probably be lucky to make it in eight. Brilliant.   
“I would love to chat, but I have a lecture and two coffee deprived mates to get to. So if you’d just-” Louis reached for the door handle, yanking it open, setting the boy with an unimpressed stare. “Not do what you just did. Like, ever again.”   
Louis ordered as fast as he could, foot tapping the whole time, leg jiggling, and it was only when he was back outside with his small crate of coffees did he realize the boy wasn’t alone in his hippie orange-saving endeavors. What even was London?   
Louis didn’t think about the boy through the entire lecture, being as he was a proper good student and all that, but the moment he zoned back into the professor’s ramble, he noticed the small orange he’d marked onto his skin in black ink.   
So.   
He smudged it with his thumb, the leaf a dash up his forefinger. Louis blames early mornings, and Zayn, and Liam of course. As well as whatever divine being decided to mess with Louis’ sleep-deprived brain by dangling a cute boy with curls and long legs and stupidly big front teeth in front of him.   
He doesn’t tell Liam or Zayn. He’s not some secondary school boy with a crush. 

*

He tells Liam and Zayn about him after he learns his name.   
It’s exactly one week later, and Louis is making his grumbling trek to the right building, when he receives a text from Liam.   
Cof?   
Louis has little time or patience to deal with Liam’s lack of adequate texting skills, so he sends back three poop emojis and is done with it. He hadn’t spent much time on the boy (much), seeming as he was just a cute boy Louis would probably never run into again. Even if he did just happen to be Louis’ type, what with his pink, pink lips and obvious lack of introvertedness.   
When Louis arrives, nose a bit runny, cheeks a bit red, the boy isn’t there. Louis lets out the shaky breath he hadn’t meant to hold, cursing himself inwardly. Fuck, Tommo, get a grip. He should probably stop referring to himself in the third person, as well as the nickname he’d been given on the football pitch. Oh well.   
The tiny bell above the door has hardly ceased its tinkling before Louis catches sight of the curly mop of hair over at one of the booths, long leg falling out of the seat, surrounded by four others. Louis tries to remember if they are also Orange Activists, but can’t conjure a sharp memory. He’d been too busy fighting his attraction to a lunatic.   
He ducks his head, feeling quite dumb after, because who’s to say this guy will even recognize him? It’d been a twenty second interaction, and Louis had been a prick, so why would he even want to talk to Louis again?   
Apparently, fate has a nasty sense of humor, and that’s exactly why when Louis is struggling to juggle three espressos and a strawberry-pecan scone, there’s suddenly an extra pair of hands to help. Bloody perfect.   
“Need any help?” curly asks, and there’s a tattoo of a cross on his hand, Jesus Christ. Literally. Louis is going to hell.   
“Let me guess?” Louis starts, unable to bite his tongue. “It’ll be in exchange for some uppity talk about the devastation of orange crops, am I right?” Louis really wishes he could kick himself in the balls, but curly takes it in stride.   
“Noooo,” he says slowly, and then he fucking grins for reasons beyond Louis, and he has fucking dimples Louis should just give up and walk himself off the nearest cliff. “That wasn’t my orange-inal intention.”   
Did he just. No.   
Louis blinks. “Did you just make a pun?”   
Pink lips laughs, said lips tugging upward into just about the cutest monstrosity of a laugh Louis has ever heard. Disgusting. “‘M Harry.”   
Louis raises an eyebrow, masking the way his fingertips tingle as they brush Harry’s hand, retrieving the styrofoam cups. “I’m late.”   
He feels Harry’s eyes on him as he leaves, ignores the jeers from Harry’s friends as he steps back into the fray of uni life and reality. Louis shouldn’t get his hopes up. Harry’s barely a passing acquaintance, a stranger in every definition of the word. He’ll forget about Harry, throw himself into coursework, and be done with it.   
He tells Liam and Zayn about Harry not twenty minutes later. 

*

The best part about living in a dorm is that Louis can attend the school concerts for free. Alright, maybe it’s not the best part, but it’s pretty up there. Right along with making Zayn do Louis’ laundry and being able to make weird animal noises through the wall whenever he hears Liam and Sophia getting a little to, er, rambunctious in Sophia’s room. Louis thinks it doesn’t help that they are neighbors, but the animal sounds do help. It always keeps them in check. Always.   
Louis is only slightly buzzed, having slugged back a couple pre-show beers with Liam and a single hit with Zayn. He’s wrapped his jumper tight around him to ward off the chill, toes smashed in his already slightly small boots, made even tighter from the thick woolen pair of socks Louis tends to wear. He hates cold feet, both literally and figuratively. He used to be very much into stage performance, still is, and nerves were a thing he’d learnt to deal with.   
Which is why he can’t comprehend why he’s trips over his own feet when he catches sight of Harry on the edge of the crowd, laughing with Nick fucking Grimshaw of all people. The Nick Grimshaw who happened to be Louis’ partner on his local radio show, where they argued and bantered for the enjoyment of their two-hundred student listeners for a grade.   
It’s A Small World begins in Louis’ head and he shakes it off.   
He turns and stalks away, towards where Liam is chatting with some boy named (Andy, Louis thinks) he hasn’t really talked to other than quick ‘hellos’. Louis grab’s Liam by the sleeve, yanking him from his conversation.   
“Louis what the fuck?” Liam asks, stumbling to keep up with Louis’ long strides. Or as long as they can be, anyway.   
“He’s here,” Louis hisses, finally stopping and rounding on Liam, fighting to keep his gaze from drifting over his friend’s shoulder. It’s like Harry just being here is a magnet, pulling Louis towards metal. That metal happening to be a six foot ridiculously fit man child.   
Liam’s face takes a mere second for the confusion to dissipate, taken over by pure excitement. “Holy shit, where?” He cranes his head, the epitome of anything but subtle, and Louis wants to yank him down by the ear.   
“He’s by Grimshaw,” Louis says, swatting at Liam’s arm. “Now stop it, you’ll give yourself whiplash.”   
Liam gives up on his quest to find Harry, dropping his gaze back down to Louis. “I have an idea.”   
Oh no. “No.”   
“C’mon Lou,” Liam pleads, eyes big and brown and so fucking puppy-like Louis feels his resolve crumbling away.  
“Fucking hell, tell me then,” he sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “How does Sophia put up with you, I swear-”   
Liam falls into Psych Major Mode, the most prominent sign that wild glint as he talks faster and faster. “Alright, so like, it’s been proven that people want what they can’t have, yeah? Well they did this study and long story short, this guy was ninety-percent more attractive to women after they found out he wasn’t single. And this guy with a serious mustache named George Loewenstein is known for his Information Gap Theory-”   
“English please, Liam,” Louis interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m failing two of my classes, make this so I can understand.”   
Liam takes a breath, then proceeds to say, “It’s fact that people who can’t get something want it that much more. What if we made it seem like I was your boyfriend, and that would trip Harry into making a move?”   
Louis was silent for a beat before he burst into laughter, doubled-over, hands smothering his face as the giggles bubbled past his lips. “Li-oh my god,” Louis wheezed, straightening himself out, pulling down the sleeve of his jumper. “I don’t even know if I want Harry to ‘make a move’-”   
“You said he’s fit,” Liam pointed out, flushed from Louis’ outburst, and Louis waved him away.   
“So is David Beckham, but you don’t see me flying to wherever to get with him.” Louis allowed himself a quick peek around Liam. He quelled the feeling of disappointment when he saw that Harry and Nick were gone, probably lost in the crowd, maybe even dancing-. No. Louis was leading himself down a slippery slope he was certain he couldn’t get himself back up. He suddenly wished he had another beer, or maybe that he hadn’t drank at all. He couldn’t decide.   
“Besides. He’s gone now, so it’s not like… yeah.”   
Liam looked in the general direction Louis had been staring at, shrugging his shoulders. “Alright. But if you see him again-”   
“See who? You boys out scouting?” Louis jumped, knocking his elbow into Liam’s ribs, who shot him a look and rubbed at his side. Louis would know that voice anywhere, he spent most weeknights and some weekends in a booth, listening to him through bulky headphones. Nick Grimshaw’s quiff was wilting despite this only being the band’s third song, his eyes pleasantly glossed over.   
Harry stood at his side, and Louis forced himself to stare at Harry’s shoes. He’d traded his Nikes for brown boots, somewhat weathered with time or misuse, Louis couldn’t tell. His eyes ghosted over the impossibly tight jeans Harry had managed to squeeze into, to the outrageously patterned and ridiculously thin whatever that was barely button up his chest. Wasn’t he freezing? Louis suddenly felt hot all over, wished he’d worn something short-sleeved himself.   
The heat washed over him in a different way, in embarrassment, when he finally reached Harry’s eyes, which were watching him with an amused smirk. Shit. So Louis was caught then. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, breathing heavily through his nose as he tuned back into the conversation. He was the first to look away, grateful for the obnoxiously big sunglasses Nick was sporting.   
“Bit gloomy for sunglasses, yeah?” Louis shot out, cutting Liam off mid-sentence. “Or, wait, it’s not cloudy. It’s just nighttime. My mistake.”   
Once again, Louis was showing Harry the worst in himself. His gaze slid involuntarily to Harry, trying to gauge his expression. It was easy. His eyes shone with laughter, bottom lip sucked under his front teeth as he fought a grin. Alright. Maybe Harry was into arseholes.   
Liam couldn’t help the bark of laughter that left him, throwing an arm around Louis’ shoulders. “Good point, Lou. Does seem a bit pretentious.”   
“Ha ha,” Nick fake laughed, tone snarky. “Give the boy a medal, a true comedian for the ages.” He smiled after a beat though, all teeth. Nick could grate on Louis’ nerves every now and again, but overall he was a pleasant mate.   
Louis was saved from making a further arse of himself by Liam’s pointed look in Harry’s direction. His arm had yet to leave Louis’ shoulders in a way that Nick didn’t look twice at, but had Harry staring daggers into Liam’s chest. Louis suppressed a smile, though he didn’t know why.   
“So who’s your friend?”   
Nick opened his mouth, to introduce Harry or belt into sudden song, no one will ever know, because Harry beat him to it. “‘M Harry Styles.”   
Harry Styles. The name sounded familiar, like Louis had heard it in passing, and damn was it hot. Louis should really dunk himself in a bucket of ice water and then curse Zayn out for buying that weed. Honestly, it must have been a bad batch.   
“Harry!” Liam said, finally releasing Louis to snap his fingers. “Yeah, I’ve seen you around. You take a Women and Gender Studies class, right?”   
Harry dipped his head, hair falling in his eyes. “That’s me. Also some psychology, a little music performance, this and that.” So he was that type. One of those who hadn’t yet figured out what they wanted to be. Louis could remember his anxiety over finding a right path for uni, where he wanted to head, instead of wandering aimlessly through different courses. He felt a twinge of sympathy for Harry that was quickly replaced by the reddening of his ears at Harry’s glance toward Liam’s hand on Louis’ waist. Amazing, Liam is brilliant, Louis will send a fruit basket.   
“That sounds like a lot to take on,” Louis says, almost missing the small innuendo until Nick bursts into sudden laughter. “What I meant,” Louis stammers, settling Nick with an uninterested stare even as his voice wobbles. “Is that you must have a lot on your plate.”   
Nick looks as disappointed at the lack of a chance to poke further fun at Louis. Or, as disappointed as one can look behind hideous sunglasses, anyway.   
“Yeah, my plate is loaded with oranges.”   
Liam looks confused, Nick groans, and Louis can no longer hold back his amusement for this stupidly adorable boy. His eyes squint when he smiles, sharp teeth digging into his lip. “Dear God, you’re truly horrible mate.”   
Liam takes that as his cue to, ultimately, lunge for Nick and pull him towards the crowd, mumbling something about drinks and Sophia and needing Nick’s help with something. It leaves Louis and Harry standing there awkwardly, until Harry breaks the silence.   
“I should probably, like, go?” It’s a question, and not the one Louis had been hoping for. Do you want to ditch this place and go on a super romantic walk in the moonlight, where we find a lake that totally doesn’t exist around here, look at the stars and be pretentious, and then make-out until the sun explodes out of both our arses? Or something of that variety, had been what Louis had hoped. Maybe it was a little far-fetched, but “I should probably go” was the very last thing he expected Harry to say.   
Louis stuffed his hands in the pocket of his jeans. “Uh, okay.” He watched Harry hesitate, turn around, then turn back.   
“I’ll see you around though, yeah? I mean. I frequent Aroma quite a lot these days.”   
These days. Was he trying to imply something? Louis couldn’t tell, so he just shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll join you some time.”   
Stupid.   
An easy smile spreads across Harry’s face, making the tension in Louis’ shoulders ease. “That’d be brilliant. Bye, uh, Louis right?”   
Right. “Yup.”   
“Bye.”   
“Bye.”   
Louis does not sulk when he finds Zayn and Liam, Liam dancing with Sophia and Zayn offering Louis the flask he had hidden in his jacket every now and again. Louis is ridiculous, and yet the next morning when he wakes up, hungover and nursing the world’s shittiest headache, there’s an orange marked on the smooth skin of his wrist. He leaves it, burying his face into his pillow with a groan. 

*

Now that Louis has spoken to Harry for longer than twenty seconds, it’s like he sees him everywhere. Louis will be eating lunch out on the lawn with Liam and Sophia and Harry will be passing by, Niall Horan almost always by his side, laughing so loud it’s no wonder Louis snaps his head in their direction. Harry always smiles and waves, and Louis sometimes pretends to notice and nod back. Other times, he begs Liam or Sophia to engage him in some sort of intelligent conversation to make it look like he’s not staring.   
But, he’s not. Staring, that is. Louis Tomlinson doesn’t stare, or pine, or whatever it is that he’s doing right now. Which he isn’t doing. That.   
Louis has a headache.   
He breaks his only rule when he goes to Aroma early on a day that he doesn’t even have a morning lecture on. He’d woken up just as the sun had crept towards the lower branches of the trees outside, and hadn’t been able to fall back to sleep for the life of him. He’d settled on trying to do some homework, he hadn’t been lying to Liam about those failing courses, but had grown frustrated in a matter of minutes.   
So, naturally, he sought out something more bitter than even himself. A fresh cup of coffee. And if Harry happened to be there, wielding orange related bullshit, what was Louis to do but listen? So, with his backpack weighing him down and a careful determination to stare at his phone no matter what, Louis found his way to Aroma in a matter of minutes.   
Autumn was nearing a close, wind tugging at the hair peeking from beneath his beanie, sliding up his jumper and onto his bare stomach. He’d need to visit home soon and break out his winter coat, buy a new pair of gloves, and fight Zayn about wearing that one hat with the fuzzy ball on the end. Zayn said he looked cute. While Louis didn’t doubt it, he wasn’t fucking Tinker Bell.   
Harry was unrecognizable where he sat on the curb, and that’s why Louis walked right past him. He only reacted when there was suddenly a hand around his ankle, squeaking in a way that Louis would later deny he was capable of producing.   
“Shit, uh, didn’t mean to scare you,” Harry said, pulling the scarf down from around his mouth. Louis’ heart rate started to return to normal after a few deep breathes, pulse fluttering in his neck.   
“You look like a pile of laundry.” It was true, almost every part of Harry was obscured in some layer of fabric from the boots on his feet to the hat on his head. He must have shoved all his hair into it, no curls falling from under the hem.   
“You always know how to make a guy feel special,” Harry cheeked and Louis wanted to melt into a puddle, like Frosty the Snowman, and spill down the street and far away from Harry Styles in mittens.   
Also, was Harry flirting? The idea had heat rushing to Louis’ cheeks though he hadn’t the faintest idea why. He’d flirted before, wasn’t what one would call shy. Harry made the jittery thrum in Louis’ viens ease, dulled the buzz of energy to a dull roar. Which is… stupid, so stupid, Louis should shut up and stop trying to be a poet.   
Louis hadn’t meant to let the silence drag on, didn’t realize he’d been so quiet until Harry cleared his throat into the chill. “I was actually waiting for a friend, who has bailed on me last minute. We were going to get something to go and then head to the library and study. Did you maybe want to…?”  
Louis would rather do anything but study. However, there were few things Louis would rather do than get a chance to flirt shamelessly with a cute boy. So that’s how he found himself smiling, finally finding some confidence, and offering Harry a hand. “Not like I have anything better to do.”   
Harry ordered for them, something obnoxiously sweet and ninety percent sugar, while Louis texted Liam and Zayn a quick study dates are real dates yes ?? no?? to which he only got a thumbs up emoji from Liam and a read by Zayn with no response. He had probably read the message, rolled his eyes, and flopped back over to sleep some more. As light a sleeper as he was, he did it a damn lot.   
They cradled the mugs in their hands, Harry through his purple mittens and Louis with his fingers seeking for warmth. Harry took notice and paused, fumbling with his backpack until he produced a second pair of vibrantly colored gloves.   
“Orange you glad I brought an extra?”   
Louis groaned, and Harry laughed while he held Louis’ cup, giving him a chance to pull the gloves on. While these ones had individual fingers, unlike Harry’s, they were a little too big, the tips flat and bent. Louis noticed Harry pretending not to notice and stuck out his tongue, taking the mug back.   
“Shut up.”   
“I didn’t say anything.”   
“That was just in advance.” 

The library is relatively quiet. As Louis should have guessed, obviously. It’s a library for Christ’s sake. Louis needs to stop being so ridiculous all the time.   
His surprise over the complete air of calm that seems to cloud the space may come from the fact that he’s spent very little time there. Once or twice to find Zayn, who was usually either texting or doodling, about summed up Louis’ time spent between rows of books. He didn’t want to read (Harry wasn’t the only one who could make puns) into why he’d let Harry drag him along, or why no dragging seemed to be required in the first place.   
“You seem uncomfortable,” Harry noted after a lengthy moment of silence that consisted of Louis sinking deeper into his bean bag chair. He made a noncommittal noise and yanked his hat off.   
“Not used to hush-hush,” was Louis’ short response before Harry smothered a sudden round of giggles into his own open palm. “What?”  
Harry fought to school his features into something serious, but his nose twitched like mad. “Nothing.”   
“You’re a shit liar,” Louis pouted, not ready to let it drop.   
“Am not,” Harry argued, but caved. “You’re hair, it like, became a halo after you yanked your hat off. ‘S cute.”   
Louis felt his cheeks burn, and disappointment spread in his belly when Harry’s lips grew tight and he looked away. Right. So he hadn’t meant it then. Good to know. Louis was still far too proud to fix his hair, however. It’d have to settle on it’s own.   
“Funny, that,” Louis said, knocking his foot against his still closed backpack. Harry, seemingly grateful for a change in topic, latched on.   
“You don’t study much, do you?”   
Louis leaned over to grab the pack by it’s handle and pull it upright, huffing. “So they tell me. Sort of failing a couple of my courses. Whoops.”   
Harry’s eyes grew sort of wide, would have been comically big if Louis had yet to find himself failing Uni funny. Louis continued,”The only reason I’m still alive and kicking is probably thanks to my coach, who argued to give me a bit of time before kicking me off the team. I’m suspended until my grades pick up, but he said he’d keep my captain spot nice and warm. Good lad, that.”   
Harry took a moment to take it all in, probably having never failed a class in his whole life. He was chewing on the edge of a blue pen when he brightened, perking up visibly. “How about I tutor you?”   
That had not been what Louis had expected. Then again, Harry Styles was very much what Louis had not expected. He was having a good time so far. Why not?  
“S’long as it’s not, like,” Louis took a moment to search for the right words, shifting under Harry’s beaming gaze, “gonna interfere with your own life. I’m a big boy, you know.”   
Harry’s grin widened. “I know. I want to. As long as-” short pause “-Liam is okay with it.”   
Louis’ eyebrow rose, frowning. “Well of course Liam better bloody well be alright with it. Long as it’s not interfering with his side of the dorm, we’ll be fine. He’s a proper neat freak.”   
Harry bit his thumbnail and nodded, eyes downcast before he brought them level with Louis’ once more. Had Louis imagined his momentary frown? Was Louis imagining things? Maybe he should start making an effort to stay hydrated.   
“Then let’s get at it.”   
Louis froze, halfway in a stretch with his arms behind his head. “Like, right now? Now, now?”   
Harry laughs, head tipped back, setting his notebooks in his lap. “Unless there’s another now you want to start on. We are here right now, like, all ready and that. Why not?”  
Louis can’t come up with a good excuse, any of them would make him sound like an ungrateful twat. I’m too tired. I left my fake and imaginary glasses at home. I think you’re super fit and would much rather snog you until I go cross-eyed. The last one will either take a far left or right, and Louis isn’t quite yet willing to find out which it is. So.   
“Alright.”   
Harry cheers like he’s won something. 

They end two hours later, Louis’ back aching and bum numb, though he is slightly more enlightened on the likes of a Shakespearean ramble and his maths isn’t giving him as big of a headache. All in all, Harry was a good tutor. And if he happened to look pretty, even under the harsh fluorescent lighting, with a pencil tucked behind his ear, then it’s not Louis’ fault now is it?  
“Brilliant, a true Einstein,” Harry praises as they leave, tucked back into their respective coats and gloves. Speaking of which.   
Louis feels his eyes crinkle but suppresses a laugh, pulling off Harry’s gloves by the finger. “I bet you talk to all of your failing protegees like that. Thanks for letting me borrow these by the way.”   
Harry is too busy tucking his hair back into his hat to fully glance in Louis’ direction, but he says, “They’re yours now. At least until you get yourself some real and proper gloves.”   
Louis really, really should say no. For his own sanity, he should admit he’s got a pair at home he can easily get within the next few weeks on a trip home. Louis likes to drive himself mad, though. It’s his only flaw.   
“A man after my own heart,” Louis says, tugging the glove back on and clutching his hands to his chest. Harry shakes his head, dimples popped as he keeps his eyes on the sidewalk. It takes Louis all of two seconds to realize what he said, and nearly stops breathing. Then relaxes. He would have said that to any of his friends, doesn’t mean anything at all. He shouldn’t get all worked up about it. Harry just really likes corny jokes.   
Right.   
It was over another tutoring session, a week later, when Harry invited Louis along to another sit-in once again. Or, rather, a stand out, since it mostly involved standing around and freezing Louis’ balls off. It was better than studying, though, no matter how “fun” Harry tried to make it. So Louis agreed with minimal need for convincing and soon found himself on the curb listening to Harry and a handful of others shout orange-related puns into the wind.   
Louis was dozing off, wondering if he could sneak into the diner across the street and buy himself cup of hot chocolate, when a man on his bicycle rode past, kicking dirty water up onto Louis’ pant leg. Louis shot the man a glare, opening his mouth to complain to Harry, when the man on the bike beat him to it.   
“Bleeding arsehole, get off the damn road!” he yelled over his shoulder, and before Louis could stop himself, he was plucking a croissant from the plate beside him and hurling it towards the man’s backside. It hit him right between the shoulder blades, causing him to grunt in confusion and slam on his breaks.   
“Fucking get some manners,” Louis shouted back, and Harry’s face broke free of it’s mortification to bark out a laugh. The girl beside Louis, whose plate he had stolen the offending bread roll from, was pressing her face to her knees, shaking with laughter. A bit of sewer water clung to the tips of her hair, which only made Louis’ hands ball up.   
“What did you say to me?” the man yelled, and even from a distance, his bald-spot was less than intimidating. Louis reached for the girl’s cup of now cold tea, ready to march his way up and dump it over the man’s head, when Harry caught his arm.   
“Okay, my knight in shining armour, we get it,” Harry laughed, prying the mug from Louis’ fingers and handing it back to the girl who was still rocked with giggles. “You’re going to start an all out food war in my honor.”   
“He’s a fucking prick,” Louis shot back, but relented. The man had already gone back on his way, shaking his head. After the initial irritation wore off, Louis felt himself crack a grin. “Next time, I’m going to pelt him with oranges. Hit him right in the nose.”   
Harry made him pinky-promise on that one.   
“You know,” Harry starts conversationally after they had begun to pack up, perhaps twenty minutes later, cheeks flushed from the cold. “I have another Orange Sit-In type thing happening this weekend. You could come if you want. With Liam.”   
Huh. With Liam. Okay. “Yeah,” Louis agrees, trying not to sound disappointed. So this is a friendly thing. Harry wouldn’t have mentioned Liam if it wasn’t. And Louis has only known Harry for what, less than three weeks? He needs to calm the fuck down. He did just spend all afternoon with him.   
“Yeah, I’ll see what he’s up to. Can Zayn come too?”   
Harry grins. “Yup. The more the merrier. Orange you excited?”   
Louis found a pile of dead leaves and stuffed them down the back of Harry’s coat. 

*

“Zayn,” Louis groans, flopping down onto his lap, making his mate groan. “I have absolutely nothing to wear.”   
“That’s a lie,” Liam pipes up from where he’s sat on the floor, leaning against the the desk chair, effectively rendering it quite useless. “You’re just worried about your hippie date.”   
Louis shoots him a look, and Zayn shakes underneath him. He better not be laughing. Louis pinches his ankle just in case. “Liam, I’m demoting you from best mate. Zayn, welcome aboard. If you use the word ‘hippie date’ once, you’re out.”   
Zayn sighs above him, fingers curling through Louis’ messy hair. “Pay no attention to mean ol’ Payno. It’s perfectly normal for you to be nervous about losing your hippie date virginity.”   
Louis groans into Zayn’s knee and hears the distinct sound of laughter and a high-five over his moans. He needs new friends. He wonders what Nick is doing these days.   
“If you don’t find me something to wear in,” he glances at the clock. “ the next ten minutes, we’re going to be late. Well. Later.”   
Zayn shoves Louis off his lap and stalks over to the closet, yanking and shoving and frowning. Liam and Louis exchange a look, Louis’ quite pointed. It said hey, at least Zayn’s being productive. Liam sighs, pushing himself up and coming up behind Zayn to help. Twats, both of them.   
In the end, Liam and Zayn resurface with a pair of jeans Louis had already discarded as ‘too casual but not casual enough’ and a gray jumper that spilled over his hands and exposed most of his collarbone. Louis fluffs his hair, staring at himself in the mirror. Huh. Not bad, those two.   
They make it to the school auditorium no more than five minutes later, almost twenty late. Harry’s sat beside some kid Louis vaguely knows as Greg James, Niall flanking his other side. They’re laughing at something Harry said, and Louis tries not to indulge the unfurling heat in his belly. It’s not that he’s jealous of Harry’s friends, or anything. Obviously.   
“Louis!” Harry says when he catches sight of them, grin broad and wide. “And Liam and Zayn. Glad you could come.”  
Liam and Zayn murmur a vague hello, sharing a look Louis chooses to ignore. Honestly, he’s a saint. “Harry, Niall, and Greg,” Louis greets in turn, nodding his head. Greg waves, a laidback sort of air about him. Niall nods, his smile maybe a bit too knowing for Louis’ liking. Is he that transparent? He doesn’t think his voice went soft or anything.   
“So what exactly is all,” Louis waves his hand around, eyeing the stage. “this. Like how does it go down?”   
Niall hops off and wanders away, whispering to Liam and Zayn as they go. Liam pats Louis on the hip to let him know they’re leaving. When Louis turns back to Harry, it’s met with a set jaw and eyes burning a hole into the wall behind his head. Huh. So maybe Harry had thought Louis would be briefed in Orange Activating (or whatever) etiquette. Little presumptuous if you ask Louis.   
“Well,” Greg supplies when the silence stretches, Harry snapping from his moody daze. “We normally pick a spot to set up camp, and when it was warmer we’d hand out cups of orange juice with flyers taped on them. They went like mad.” He shakes his head, smiling.   
“Wait,” Louis cuts in, eyebrows drawn together. “I thought they were, like, going extinct or something. Why would you promote the consumption?”  
Harry jumps in for this one, eyes gleaming, back to his old self. “It’s not like that. In Florida, there’s like, this bug that’s rendering the oranges inedible and ruining the crop. They are doing this research thing, like with DNA testing, but need more funds. We’re asking people to text a number and donate whatever they can. Same we did with the pandas last year.”   
That’s fucking crazy. Louis is a little bit in love.   
Woah. Not something Louis is willing to get into, especially right now. His timing is impeccable.   
“Well,” Louis reasons, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “You could always do like a spiced orange coffee type deal. Pass them out while kids are rushing to their classes. Maybe Aroma would like to sponsor?”   
Harry’s eyes widen, and before Louis can even blink, he’s staring into the widest smile he’s ever seen. “That’s fucking brilliant!”   
“Why would Aroma help though?” Greg asks at almost the same time, eyebrows knit. Harry’s mood visibly dampers and Louis wants to snap at Greg, but keeps himself in check.   
“I can talk to them,” Louis says, shrugging. “Explain what the plan is. I’m sure they’d love the advertisement, especially to our crowd.”   
Harry pushes himself up into a standing position so they’re eye-to-eye, and Louis could wrap himself in Harry’s gaze and be warm on even the coldest nights. “You don’t have to do that, I could go-”  
“Come with me.” Louis doesn’t mean to say it, means to assure Harry that it’s no big deal and he would love to help out. That’s not how it works though, and Harry’s bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.   
“Alright, yeah, like partners.”   
Louis doesn’t want to think about himself being Harry’s “partner”, but is saved when Greg clears his throat. He looks amused from where he’s lazing on the edge of the stage, looking between Harry and Louis with a small grin. Louis pulls his beanie tighter around his ears.   
“The dream team, you are then,” Greg says. “I’ll leave you both to it, go find Jade and see if she’ll make posters. Text me if it works out?”   
Harry gives him an enthusiastic high five, and then Greg is wandering to find whomever.   
Louis leads the way, even holds the door open for Harry, which has Harry giggling about “how gentleman-ly” Louis is. Louis rolls his eyes and shoves him in the shoulder. It’s not a very long walk, yet by the time they make it, Louis swears he has frost clinging to his eyelashes. The sky is grey and dreary, and Louis hopes that’s not a bad sign. He’s going to be really embarrassed if this doesn’t pull through.   
In the end, it only takes about twenty minutes of combined effort to charm the manager into helping. She’s an elderly woman, with standard short curls and cat-like glasses that sit across her neck on a beaded chain. She’d agreed after slight urging from a girl with matching dark skin that must have been her granddaughter, smiling at them as Harry scribbled down the group’s information. They agreed to talk that weekend, come up with a mutual understanding on advertisement and distribution.   
Back on the street, Harry pulls Louis into a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you, Lou, holy shit,” Harry breathes into Louis’ neck, making him shiver. Louis gripped back just as tight, burying his face in Harry’s hair. He’d never admit to inhaling some of Harry’s vanilla-scented shampoo, but hey. He’s only human.   
“That’s Advertising and PR Manager, now, to you,” Louis quipped, hooting in laughter when Harry pinches the exposed skin of his wrist.   
Harry pulled away, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and there was no way Louis had imagined the way his gaze had dropped briefly to Louis’ own lips, Jesus Christ. Louis felt his breath catch in his throat, waiting, waiting… And then Harry was swallowing and pulling further out of reach.   
Louis almost missed his next words over the roar of disappointment swelling inside him. “Liam is a lucky guy, that.”   
And wait what.   
“Liam?”  
Harry’s eyes fell to his shoes, pushing at a pile of dead leaves. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry-”   
Louis couldn’t hold back the sudden rush of relief and utter disbelief that let loose in his chest. Harry thought- fuck, Louis was going to fucking kill Liam, but first he had to stop laughing because Harry was starting to look more hurt than bemused now.   
“Harry,” Louis started, the tail end nothing but a breathless lilt. “I’m not dating Liam, the man’s my best bloody mate.”   
Realization dawned over Harry in the form of a creeping, slow raise of his brow. “Then what was that at the concert? And, like, the whole hip tapping thing?”   
Louis felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment, rolling his eyes towards the sky. He was not going to tell Harry about Liam and his stupid know-it-all scheme to get Harry to “make a move”. Not yet, anyway.   
Louis went for something vague, just to drop one hint and see if Harry reciprocated any sort of feelings, but what came out instead was, “I like you a latte.” Which. Fuck.   
Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been pulled into a kiss faster. Harry tasted, ironically, nothing like oranges, but instead like something sweet enough to maybe be candy and real enough to be human. Louis’ lost himself in the feel of Harry’s lips against his own, soft and warm against the bitter wind, and the heated palm pressed into his lower back and the other brushing his cheek had his toes curling. It wasn’t scandalous enough to get them any rude stares, but it was enough for Louis. It was evident Harry felt the same, for when he finally pulled away, his frosted breath was shaky in the air.   
“Louis Tomlinson, will you please go on a date with me.”   
Louis bite the inside of his cheek, unable to contain himself. “I guess I’ll have to learn to espresso myself better and take this shot.”   
The melodic hum of Harry’s responding groan was the backdrop to the beginning of a beautiful relationship, in Louis’ humble opinion.


End file.
